In single file we descend a narrow but pleasantly-lit staircase to the lower level of the book café, Book by Book, which is operated by Changbi Publishers, a publishing house renowned for their eclectic work. Book cafés are in vogue, a reaction to the side effects of living in a constantly wired and wireless high tech society. Within the din of the city, Seoulites also crave quiet and a space to read books, which are available at the small price of a cup of coffee, tea, or uniquely in this particular establishment, beer. The lighting in the room we enter is also cheerful and sturdy linen drapes line the front of the room, providing a semblance of airiness despite its being underground. There is a slight tremor in the writer’s voice, and sure enough, she admits to her nervousness. Willowy with long frizzy brown hair, there is a hint of aplomb in her. It’s her first of many public appearances to follow, and regardless of her initial hesitation her voice soon gains strength, definition, reassuring listeners that she undoubtedly is master of her trade. Sohn Won-pyeong talks about herself, her work process, and her debut YA novel, Almonds.

Within Changbi Publisher’s 51-year history, Almonds is only the tenth book to be selected as recipient of their annual Young Adult Literature Prize. YA is an unfamiliar concept in Korea. I remember being presented with long lists of recommended “great books” to read every semester in junior high and high school. The lists, easily interchangeable, consisted of books such as Don Quixote, the Iliad and Odyssey, Jane Eyre, and The Catcher in the Rye, as well as other Western and Korean literature. There were no “YA” books available, nor a distinction of them from adult fiction. For us, greats were greats and the lists wavered like long ribbons in front of us, perpetually elusive and insuperable, belittling us with their stable presence throughout our academic lives. Therefore, with the introduction of “YA” from the overseas publishing world, today’s Korean youth have been provided with a somewhat less intimidating list with which to approach literature.

Sohn Won-pyeong may be a new face in the young genre of Korean YA, but she is not a novice in the writerly trade. Born in 1979, her experience in literature commenced as a screen writer. She also directed a number of short films. Another recent novel of hers, geared toward adult readers, Born in 1988, received the Jeju 4.3 Peace Literature Award early this year. During the “meeting with readers” session at the book café, she divulges a secret at one audience member’s question of when she began to enjoy writing. She does not. It is a taxing chore for her. Paradoxically, she thinks she writes because it’s something she is not good at. At the core of her impetus is the need to hone and better herself in this craft. Sohn states that the feeling she has toward writing is less of an aversion and more like an annoyance. She analogizes her dislike to that of salary men and women who are loath to rise and go to work every morning. It’s something that she has to get done as soon as possible and feel good about once she’s gone through with it, like laundry or taking out the trash. Knowing that she is mother of a four-year-old and that she had written the first draft of Almonds when her daughter was four months old, I ask what had been the hardest part of writing the novel under the assumption that her reply would be something about juggling child-rearing and writing, but in fact she says she was so much more productive during her daughter’s infancy because her daughter had been an exceptional sleeper.

There is a singular concept in Korean literature. It’s called “Deung-dan.” Literally translated, it means “to mount the platform,” and refers to receiving a literary prize through an esteemed publishing house, newspaper, or literary magazine and start one’s literary career, becoming publicly acknowledged as a writer. Writers are taken seriously when debuted through this route. Today, “mounting the platform” does not hold as much prestige as a decade ago. The prevalence of literary prizes has diluted the significance of each prize and there are other ways to establish oneself in the literary scene. Nonetheless, although not the only route, this deeply rooted culture is still very much alive today. It is speculated that this rite of passage materialized through the influence of our long history of a state examination system, which citizens would take to acquire public positions during the Joseon Dynasty. If one worked and studied hard enough, it would ensure high social status.

Almonds is about a boy who was born with alexithymia, a condition where a person cannot identify with or feel emotions. The prose is calm, detached, only to provide the reader with more room to emotionally enter the story. Here is an excerpt:

However, the almond in my head seems to be broken in some way. A red light does not turn on even with some sort of stimulation, so I’m not sure why people are laughing or crying. For me, joy or despair or love or fear are all vague. The words ‘emotion’ and ‘empathy’ are all merely obscure letters to me.

Perhaps this is the condition we all face today. Seoul is an extremely fast-paced city. Many Seoulites confront depression and despondency. Suicide rates are high. To add to that, ours is a country split in two. Families and ideologies have been abruptly separated. It is a collective memory. Everyone has a family member or friend whose father or mother has experienced wartime separation and death. At the ever-changing whirling world around us, we are constantly at a loss as we constantly experience anew the loss of what is familiar and what we have become attached to. We are told to let go and adapt to new ways or fall behind. An easy way to deal with such perpetual emotional turmoil is to shut down, detach oneself from any worldly thing, and take on the new. We may not have been born with this brain condition, but we may be voluntarily living like so.

Another way to deal with emotional turbulence is to find niches in which to place our attachments, fears, insecurities, desires. Literature seems to be a good outlet, and while reading is not as popular a pastime as it once was, the relative stability of literature is something many people in Korea are seeking.